To the Red King
by KurohimePhantomlord
Summary: The funeral for the Red King is about to end and Munakata Reisi, the Blue King, hasn't visited even once. And so, his Lieutenant, Seri Awashima, on behalf of HOMRA, asks him to create an elegy dedicated to Suoh Mikoto, to be read on the last day of the funeral. "Even in death, you tend to give me trouble, huh... Mikoto?" MikoRei one-shot


To the Red King

Munakata sat in silence in front of his desk in his dark room with only the desk lamp to light his work, heavily concentrating as the cold pen in his hand made contact with the smooth and blank page. He gave out a sigh.

"So troublesome. Even in death, you tend to give me trouble, huh... Mikoto?" Munakata smiled as he looked up at the clock. It was almost past midnight and the more he ponders on what he should write, the more the loneliness seized him.

* * *

"Sir," Awashima Seri approached him in his office while he was unsuccessfully solving a milk puzzle. "The members of HOMRA wish that you write an elegy for their deceased king."

Munakata immediately stopped fiddling with the pieces and thought about it. "Why would the red clan ask the Blue King for such a thing?" He lifted his glasses and glanced at his second-in-command, assessing her serious expression.

"It was formally and sincerely requested by Kusanagi, sir. On behalf of the Red Clan, he hopes that you will agree and read it in their King's funeral the day after tomorrow, the last day."

A silent stare down occurred between the King and his subordinate. After giving it much thought, he blinked and nodded, making Awashima flash a small smile and nod back.

"It is greatly appreciated, sir." She bowed and left the office, leaving Munakata in deep thought.

* * *

After a short time of meditation, the Blue King opened his eyes slowly and started writing, his memories with Suoh Mikoto suddenly coming down like a great flood.

To The Red King

To the man who's the embodiment  
Of the strongest flame and heat  
Accept this simple gesture of lament  
From the very person who would not kiss your feet  
You were the greatest king in your clan's eyes  
And yet you let vengeance be your demise

* * *

Munakata tipped his glasses up a little, slightly irritated at the memory of him having to do the dirty work because of Suoh's selfishness. But he was mostly irritated at the thought of tears brimming his eyes.

* * *

You were someone I respected  
Maybe even more  
For the wounds you left me, as expected  
Are still bleeding and sore  
Memories of that day in the piling snow  
The increasing coldness the we both truly know

* * *

Munakata felt a pang of pain in his chest. Clutching it tightly, he continued writing, pouring out his bottled emotions.

* * *

You were the warmth  
Beneath my cold exterior  
Whenever I was in your arms  
The flames that will burn forever superior  
If only this is a cruel joke, an act  
But it's not, I can only accept the horrible fact

Show me again that lazy smile  
From the lips that blow those flames  
That would leave no blood, no bone, no ash for miles  
The playful smirk when we play our games  
Intense lips that chill me to the bone  
But now I'm chilled by the thought of being alone

* * *

Munakata found it harder to breathe and pain in his chest growing, yet his hand refused to stop. It wrote and wrote, the memories flooding, good and bad, dreams and nightmares.

* * *

Remind me of that sensation  
That hand that took my trembling one  
The tepid heat that calmed my emotions  
The arms that held me 'til break of dawn  
It is nothing but a dream to me now  
A reminder of the ache of the unspoken vow

Red and blue, fire and ice  
We are both kings  
Who have paid an unfair price  
For strength and power are meaningless things  
I pray to the gods, if there is eternity,  
Let it be us, be you and me...

The moment he finished and put down his pen, Munakata re-read the poem he made. By every stanza he read, the heavier the sweat that flowed down his face.

"This is not an elegy." He concluded irritably, mouth twitching, slightly flustered. "It's an elegy turned into a love poem."

Utterly irritated and tired, he decided to go to bed, leaving the piece of paper on the desk. And so, on the following day, the last day of the funeral, Munakata Reisi called Awashima and said that he's sick and can't make it.

"Kindly extend my apologies to the Red Clan." said Munakata and faked a cough. He ended the call and rolled to his side, staring at the cold and empty space beside him where Mikoto would sometimes be.

"You would probably be sitting on the bed, smoking right now... if you were here." Munakata smiled sadly and got up. He picked up his glasses from the nearby bed table, next to the lamp, and wore it. He looked at the desk on the other side of the room where the piece of parchment lied, a thought crossing his mind but dismissed it immediately, shaking his head and then adjusted his glasses. He went to the kitchen and cooked himself some breakfast. And upon serving, something caught Munakata's attention.

"The meal... It's too much for me." Munakata bit his lip. This was definitely not a good start in the morning. He got too used to Suoh suddenly coming by at least before he goes to work. The blue king sighed and proceeded to eating, the leftovers placed in the fridge. Since he called in sick, he couldn't proceed to the office and had to call one of his subordinates to bring his work to his apartment. When the papers arrived, he simply placed them over the parchment with the elegy/love poem and distracted himself with work all day.

Munakata was so engaged with his work that he didn't notice it was close to dinner time already. His stomach growled menacingly.

"Oi, why didn't you tell me it's already dinner time? Suoh-?!" Munakata was surprised at his own words. He didn't expect that the Red King's absence would affect him this much. He groaned and went to the kitchen. He just heated up the leftovers from breakfast and had some tea.

"I suppose... it wouldn't hurt to visit his grave tomorrow." Munakata muttered and took a sip of his tea. He finished his dinner, taking small and elegant bites until his hunger was satisfied.

He went back to his room to finish the small remainder of his work which only took a couple of hours to complete. He organized the papers and placed them on the upper-left corner of the desk. The piece of parchment revealed itself to him once more.

"Yeah... Tomorrow..." He muttered and shut the desk lamp.

* * *

The following morning, Munakata got up early, changing into his blue uniform, his sword sheathed on his left. He folded the parchment and hid inside his coat. After giving his subordinate a call, ordering him to pick up the papers in his apartment—the spare key being with Awashima—he ventured out and took a taxi to the closest location to Suoh Mikoto's gravesite. The Red King's ashes were buried close to a cliff which overlooks the sea, far from the city. Munakata paid the driver and before trekking up the stairs, he bought a bouquet of white lilies from an old woman. It was a steep climb but nothing the Blue King couldn't handle. Besides, the view at the top was splendid, especially during the time he came to visit. Approaching Suoh's grave, he stared at the rising sun, felt the fresh and cool morning breeze kiss his cheeks and play lightly with his hair. His focus then went to the gravestone and on it is inscribed:

Suoh Mikoto

13 August 1988 - x x 2013

The Best King HOMRA Could Ever Ask For

Munakata adjusted his glasses, maintaining his composure despite the great sorrow welling up in his heart, the growing tightness in his chest. Looking at the grave, he could indeed feel the loss, the realization that Suoh Mikoto, the Red King, the constant troublemaker, the troublemaker he loved, is no more. He bent on one knee and placed the bouquet of fragrant lilies on the gravestone. Standing up, he took the folded paper and cleared his throat.

"Suoh..." Munakata said in a somewhat sad whisper, as if to call the lost king. He started, "To the Red King...".

Munakata recited the poem with a painful and lonely passion, every word uttered sounded like yearning for the return of what was lost, aching for what was then.

When Munakata finishes, he folded the paper again and, instead of putting it in his coat, he tucked it in with the Lilies. Turning around, he took another glance back at the grave, at the beautiful sight of the sun illuminating it, and finally, started walking back.

"Farewell... Mikoto." And upon his sorrowful whisper did a slightly strong and warm breeze blow from behind him, from where the grave was. He felt the ever so familiar warmth from Mikoto as though he was just there, embracing him from behind like usual but this time, as though the wind whispering the beloved Red King's final farewell.


End file.
